Page 6 of Wishing Stone

I placed my hand on her thigh, lightly rubbing back and forth, as I waited for her to look at me. When she finally glanced up, tears glistened in her deep chocolate brown eyes but they didn’t fall. She gave me a small smile instead.

“I appreciate that, Alex—more than you know. When I think about the past three years, I think about everything the doctor didn’t prepare me for. I wish she had warned me about what was to come—even years later. Having a miscarriage isn’t an event that’s suddenly over. It’s like running a goddamn marathon on a sad, agonizing road with nothing but emptiness waiting for you at the finish line.”

I couldn’t begin to name the things that stirred inside me. There was so much to say, yet so much that couldn’t be said. So rather than analyze my feelings, I pushed them aside to focus on how she felt. I’d learned early on that sometimes all she needed was for me to hold her and listen while she grieved.

“Are you doing okay?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” she said with a slight shrug. “Right now, I just miss normalcy. This time of year, I’d usually be shopping the Union Square Christmas Markets or browsing the 5thAvenue holiday window displays. But more than anything else, I miss seeing people. I didn’t realize how much until today. It’s lonely in this big house. I spoke to Ally via FaceTime this morning, but it wasn’t the same. I wish I could see her in person—especially today, you know?”

Krystina had a special bond with her best friend, Allyson. While the two had always been close, they’d become even closer over the past three years. I attributed it to the fact that Allyson had been with Krystina when she had the first miscarriage. They’d been shopping when Krystina’s severe cramping began, and Allyson had rushed her to the hospital. Unfortunately, I had been in Chicago on a business trip and couldn’t get to her before the doctors broke the devastating news. I’d never forgive myself for not being there and had vowed to never be that far from my wife again.

“I realize you miss her, but you know why you can’t see her in person. Ethan DeJames has Allyson all over the city doing photoshoots, many of which include a lot of people surrounding her. It’s not safe for you to see her,” I firmly reiterated.

My tone was stern enough for her to understand my resolve but not so harsh as to diminish her feelings. Allyson was a regular fixture in Krystina’s life, even if I didn’t like it. It wasn’t that I had a problem with Allyson per se. I just didn’t like it when she monopolized too much of my wife’s time.

However, my feelings about that were now moot because of Krystina’s isolation rules. We’d been over why she couldn’t see her friend numerous times. Allyson was a photographer who was often on set with famous models and actors—all of whom came with a team of makeup artists, costume designers, and the like. I didn’t need to remind Krystina of this any more than I wanted to go a round with her about why seeing Allyson in person was too risky. I knew she was frustrated, but I wasn’t going to budge on this one. We’d already lost so much, and I’d do anything to prevent us from losing even more—not when there were things I could control to keep her safe.

Krystina squeezed her eyes closed and breathed deep, almost as if she was trying to find patience.

“I love that you’re constantly looking out for me,” she assured. “In fact, it was my first thought when I woke up this morning. I can’t imagine how hard this pandemic must be for you. So much has been thrown into chaos and I know you’re fighting to keep control wherever you can.”

“No need to remind me, angel,” I said sardonically.

“I try to keep that in mind every day. I know it’s important to stay positive and not let the necessity for isolation get me down. That’s not good for—” she stopped short, then sighed. “Negativity isn’t good for anyone.”

I frowned, wondering why she faltered before seeming to correct herself. I also noticed how she changed the direction of the conversation. She was clearly upset and missing her usual life, yet practically in the same breath, she was thanking me for looking out for her. It wasn’t in my wife’s nature to steer away from sensitive topics.

“What were you going to say?” I prompted, genuinely curious about what was moving the wheels in her head.

“Nothing,” she said a little too hurriedly before continuing. “I will admit that I thought today was going to be rough. But then the Christmas tree was delivered, and I felt this shift inside me. I somehow knew I could get through the day just fine and that it was okay to move on from the past without feeling guilty. Everything happens for a reason, right? I hate to use that expression for this. It’s so cliché and I can’t think of a single reason why anyone should have to endure what we have. But I have to think our losses happened so we could experience something bigger. We have so much to look forward to, and I didn’t want to spend today dwelling on what could have been.”

“I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.” I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “We can’t control bad things from happening, but we can control how we react to them. That’s something Dr. Tumblin has been repeating to me for a while, and I think he’s right.”

She quirked up one eyebrow at me. “Really? What else has he said during your one-on-one sessions?”

I recalled the last video conference call I’d had with the psychiatrist my wife introduced me to a few years back. While I hadn’t been a fan of the shrink at first, I’d come to appreciate the time spent with him. Dr. Tumblin helped me sort through the blackness in my soul and taught me to welcome life’s small pleasures—and most of all, that I deserved to enjoy them without guilt. After the pandemic hit, his advice helped keep me grounded at a time when everything seemed to be spiraling out of control.

“He knows I’m worried about you and spends a lot of time making sure I don’t confine you to our bedroom.”

“I take that to mean he still doesn’t know about your over-the-top efforts to keep safe.”

“I may have conveniently forgotten to mention it,” I said with a wink, but she didn’t seem to find anything amusing. Instead, she huffed out a frustrated sigh.

“Alex, really. We have a group session scheduled next week for the two of us. Therapy doesn’t work if we keep lying to the doctor,” she pointed out sardonically.

“Who’s lying?”

“It’s called lying by omission. Dr. Tumblin needs to know about your rules to protect me from a pandemic that doesn’t even seem like a pandemic to much of the country anymore.”

I narrowed my gaze, not liking this turn in the conversation.

“What do you mean it doesn’t seem like a pandemic anymore?”

“Well, most people seem to have returned to semi-normal lives, Alex. I don’t really keep up with the news anymore, but from what I’ve heard from others—”

“Krystina, don’t,” I interrupted. “You and I both know that you aren’t most people.”

She shook her head and sighed.

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